


Invisible

by rpfwriters



Category: Actor RPF, American (US) Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: F/M, Gen, Language, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 00:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18377081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rpfwriters/pseuds/rpfwriters
Summary: Your boss is a jackass and Chris puts him in his place after seeing the way you’re treated.





	Invisible

Surrounded by stunning beauties, you were used to being invisible. It had been that way your entire life, even as a child. Your siblings were the extraordinary and gifted ones while you preferred to have your nose buried in a book, imagining it was your adventures and crazy love triangles. Even now, standing off to the side while your boss was getting ready to interview Chris Evans, you were daydreaming of what it might be like to be the center of attention, all eyes on you, especially those of the devastatingly sexy actor.

“Got that?” Barry, your boss, asked, eyebrow arched, clearly irritated you hadn’t been paying attention. Or so he thought.

You scratched the pen across the paper and nodded. “Large black coffee and a bottle of Evian,” you repeated. “I’ll have catering send some over.”

“No,” he huffed. “You go and get it.”

“But, that’s not part of my -”

“It’s your damn job when I tell you do it,” Barry ground out.

_Someone clearly woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Again._

Despite the intense burning of irritation in your gut, you gave him your sweetest smile. “You got it, boss.”

Grumbling under your breath, you slipped in the earpiece you were to wear at all times whenever you weren’t in the same room as Barry and trudged out of the room in search of the requested refreshments. Ten minutes later, you were headed back, only partially paying attention to where you were going when you rammed into what felt like a brick wall.

The brick wall hissed and jumped back as coffee splattered all over them. “Son of a…” heaved out of him. “Are you okay?”

Your jaw was tight as you swallowed down the yelp that was threatening to burst out of you. “Yeah, I’m… I’ll live.”

The coffee was staining the crisp white shirt of the man you walked into as he swiped his hand across it. You didn’t even want to imagine what your clothes looked like.

“I didn’t see you there,” he half-joked, but you were used to hearing things like that.

_Story of my life._

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” you quickly apologized, throwing the cup in the trash.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked with genuine concern, and that was when you finally looked to see who belonged to the clothes you’d destroyed.

_Oh, shit._

Anxiety bubbled in your chest and you felt your knees start to shake. “I… I’m fine, Mr. Evans. But you… your shirt…”

“It’ll be fine,” he promised. “There’s plenty more for me to choose from.”

You found yourself chuckling along. “I suppose that’s one perk to doing back-to-back interviews, Mr. Evans.”

“Mr. Evans is my dad. Call me Chris,” he hummed, holding out his coffee-slicked hand.

You gave it a quick shake, flinching when the voice of Barry erupted in your ear. “Are you going to Cuba to get the coffee?”

“There was a uh, a long line. It’s almost ready,” you lied with a grimace.

“You’ve got five minutes,” Barry ground out.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you turned your attention back to Chris. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, waving at his stained shirt.

Chris gave you a sympathetic smile. “It’s okay, really.”

Before you could do something really stupid like start gushing over how the shirt was clinging to his abs and chest, you turned around and literally ran down the hall toward catering for a replacement coffee. On your way back to the meeting room, you kept an eye out, making sure you didn’t plow into anyone else.

You burst into the room with thirty seconds remaining. “Here, it’s here,” you panted, handing the coffee and water to Barry.

He took one look at your disheveled appearance and scoffed. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I uh, I walked into -”

“Me,” Chris interrupted, a woman fussing with his hair.

Barry’s eyes went wide. “Are you okay?” he asked Chris, clearly not caring if the coffee had burned you, which, to be honest, was nothing new. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt your feelings.

Chris’ eyes were on you when he answered. “I’m perfectly fine, just needed a new shirt.”

“Jesus, Y/N,” Barry hissed, rubbing his temple with his middle finger. “How many times do I need to tell you to -”

“Watch where I’m going,” you bit out. “Got it, Barry.” Without needing direction, you moved to the back of the room and pressed your back to the wall, teeth grinding, chin quivering, clipboard against your stomach where the coffee had stained your shirt.

Chris gave Barry a cool look. “You’re not going to ask if she’s okay?”

“She’s fine,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Besides, she’s nobody important. Now, are you ready to get started?” Barry didn’t wait for an answer before signaling the cameramen to start rolling, questions rolling off his tongue like rapid fire.

You’d seen interviews Chris had participated in, and in all of those, no matter how tired or grumpy he might have been, he always joked and played along with whatever the interviewer said, but not this time. Whenever he did smile, it was forced, didn’t reach his eyes, didn’t affect the tone of his voice. His answers were short, clipped, irritated. Even his body language was that of someone who was pissed off, and damn it if you didn’t find it sexy.

Giving yourself a mental shake, you glanced at your watch and sighed. Four hours before you could go home, take a shower, and change. Four hours of wearing stale-coffee-tainted clothes and dealing with Barry, who would undoubtedly be perturbed by the fact that Chris was being difficult. He would take it out on you, of course believing that Chris’ mood had been affected by the fact you spilled coffee all over him.

_Whatever, jackass._

You swiped a hand over your face, sighing when you realized that some tears had leaked out. You cried when you were overwhelmed and frustrated, and you absolutely hated it. Wiping your hand on the thigh of your jeans, you were surprised to find Chris watching you, concern etched in his features. You gave him a forced smile before tearing your eyes away, pretending to be interested in the floor.

Before you knew it, Barry was ending the interview. “I want to thank you again for taking the time to sit down with me.”

“Yeah, no problem,” was Chris’ tight response.

The lights on the tops of the cameras turned off and you could almost hear Barry roll his eyes. A grunted version of your name emerged as he beckoned you over.

“Ye- yeah, Barry?” God, you were shaking so hard you were sure Chris could hear your knees clacking together.

“You owe Chris here an apology,” he snapped, dark eyes full of disappointment drilling into you.

“What? No,” you gasped. “I… I mean, I already apologized.”

“Obviously it didn’t do any good,” Barry shot back, standing suddenly. “You pissed him off!”

Chris ripped off the mic that was attached to his shirt and shoved out of the chair. “Don’t talk to her like that,” he ground out.

Barry rolled his eyes. “Oh, please,” he laughed. “There’s no one here for you to impress, Chris. It’s okay to admit that you’re pissed at her. I would be if I were in your shoes.”

“She’s not the one I’m pissed at,” Chris said menacingly. “You’re the one that’s treating Y/N like she’s nothing more than your average slave. You owe her an apology.”

_Wait, what?! Is this really happening right now?_

Barry had the nerve to act surprised. “Excuse me? Y/N is  _my_ employee. I’ll talk to her however I damn well please.”

With his brow arched, Chris reached into his back pocket and pulled out his cell phone, which he immediately unlocked and placed a call.

“I need you to kill the interview before it hits,” he ordered someone, probably his publicist, all while glaring down at Barry. “Yeah, that one.”

Barry was shaking his head. “You don’t want to do this.”

Chris gave a sly smile. “And all future interviews as long as he’s employed.” He slid the phone back into his pocket once he confirmed he meant what he said.

_Holy shit!_

“Chris, you didn’t have to do that,” you murmured, your head shaking, heart hammering painfully against your ribcage. “Really, it’s fine.”

“It’s the farthest thing from fine,” he said, voice much softer than a moment ago.

Barry scoffed at the exchange. “You’re fired,” he spit out, rage burning in his eyes as he turned his attention back to Chris. “And you -”

“What are you gonna do, huh?” Chris snarled, stepping closer to Barry. “Treat me like I’m disposable like you do everyone else? Turns out, you’re the disposable one.”

Barry’s phone started ringing, and judging by the way his hands balled into fists, he was going to ignore it.

“You should get that,” Chris instructed him, glaring at him until the call was answered.

Barry’s face turned three different shades of red at the verbal lashing he was receiving from someone in a higher position than him. “No, you don’t… it’s not… I don’t care!”

Chris took hold of your elbow and ushered you out of the room. “Say something.”

“I… what… I don’t,” you stammered, your brain still trying to completely understand what had transpired.

“I shouldn’t have gone off like that, I’m sorry,” he lamented, raking a hand through his hair. “It just pisses me off to see someone treated like they’re nothing.”

You huffed and leaned your shoulder against the wall. “It… it’s okay, I guess. I mean, I don’t have a job now.”

“I’m sure I can help with that,” he said eagerly, a bright smile tugging on his lips.

“Chris, you’ve done enough,” you said flatly, running a hand over your face.

He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging as he did. “I really am sorry. Let me make it up to you?”

You looked at him through your lashes and chuckled. “I swear to God, if you say something about getting a cup of coffee, I might have to slap you.”

Chris laughed at that, head tossed back, hand over his chest. “I wouldn’t even dream of mentioning coffee right now. I was thinking dinner at the hotel. They have an amazing restaurant.”

“Chris,” you sighed, shaking your head, tears stinging your eyes. “I appreciate you standing up for me back there, I do, but… Barry’s not wrong, I’m nobody. You don’t need to waste your time with me.”

He set a hand on your shoulder, azure eyes flicking over your face. “I’m not wasting my time,” he said gently.

You shook your head again. “But you are.”

“I’m not,” Chris insisted more sternly than before.

You shrugged the shoulder not weighed down by his hand. “Okay, fine.”

“We’re going to work on that,” he noted, his eyes narrowing slightly.

You couldn’t help but snort. “What’s this ‘we’ stuff?”

“I was going to ask this over dinner but, how would you like a job?” Chris asked, standing to his full height.

“Doing what? And don’t tell me it has anything to do with coffee,” you chuckled nervously.

Chris shook his head. “The only coffee you’ll have to do deal with is when you want some for yourself.”

“Okay,” you said. “What’s the job?”

“My assistant is about to go on maternity leave,” he informed you, turning you to walk down the hall with him.

“Chris, you don’t owe me a job.” Guilt started flooding through you, burning your cheeks and neck.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his side. “No, I don’t, but I want to do this, Y/N. Let me do this.”

God, he smelled so good. You had to suppress the urge to turn into him, to wrap your arm around his narrow waist, to hook your finger into one of his belt loops. This was a really bad idea, agreeing to work for a man that you wanted to do all sorts of inappropriate things to, but your heart overrode your brain.

“Okay, I’ll come and work for you.”


End file.
